


Five Blankets

by mcmanatea, rutobuka



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Middle Earth, Cute tiny lesbians, F/F, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fluff, Lumberjane AU, Mildly Canadian-flavored, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmanatea/pseuds/mcmanatea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/pseuds/rutobuka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Bilbo get off on the wrong foot thanks to an incredibly offensive newspaper article, but it's hard to avoid your hobbit neighbor when she owns the only grocery store in town. Modern Middle-Earth AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo didn’t spit out her coffee, but it was a near thing.

“Oh no. No no no no no,” she chanted as she buried her fingers in already-mussed curls and tugged sharply. She could deny it all she wanted, and in fact continued to do so in a low whine as she dragged her hands down until they rested over her mouth. Nevertheless, Lobelia’s pinched, pixelated face was still staring smugly at her from page two of _The Farthing Tribune_ , next to the headline, “ **Dwarves: Can They Really Be Trusted?** ”

She wished that her cousin was standing here right now so that she could throttle her. She also wished that there wasn’t a stack of identical papers sitting outside her office door, waiting to be put out for purchase. Still, she was a Baggins, and that meant that she had to face this travesty head-on with a level head, just like her father would have done. She _did_ take some pleasure in moving her mug over Lobelia’s picture and watching a brown stain spread over that sharp, upturned nose.

_**Dwarves: Can They Really Be Trusted?** _

_By Lobelia Sackville-Baggins_

_Dwarves have been a part of the Shire community for decades. We share our harvest, our homes, and our lives with them, and in return they provide us with labor, tools, ale, and enough bawdy jokes to keep the Green Dragon in an uproar long past respectable hours._

_Yet despite our ostensibly friendly relations, a closer inspection reveals that this dynamic has been tremendously lopsided through the years. Though they are traditionally wealthier than most hobbits could ever dream of being, the dwarves of the Shire (and wouldn’t our great-grandfathers be rolling in their graves at those words!) insist upon charging exorbitant prices for their goods and services, and seldom engage in barter or trade. Such greedy and exploitative dealings are unbecoming of members of our community, no matter what their race._

_In fact, metal trinkets and off-color songs start to look like poor compensation indeed when one considers all that hobbits have sacrificed in terms of food, land, money, and goodwill to make this group of outsiders feel welcome. It is especially troubling that dwarvish language, traditions, and crafts remain as inaccessible as they ever were. At the end of the day, they return to their Binbale enclave and keep entirely to themselves. It makes one wonder what on earth they get up to that require such secrecy and paranoia._

_Could the answer lie with the de facto leader of this unruly clan?_

_While the name of “Durin” may conjure up fanciful notions of royalty and nobility from Ages long past, the owner of the Durin Tree Farm is as far removed from her illustrious namesake as it is possible to be. In fact, Thorin Durin shares little in common even with other dwarves of her acquaintance. While her employees can at least be counted on to stimulate our local economy through frequent visits to alehouses, she is rarely seen in town except to conduct financial transactions on behalf of her business. Described by unnamed sources as “distant,“ “haughty,” and “imperious,” she has nonetheless managed to turn the very un-dwarflike business of firewood and Yule trees into a lucrative one, and in only a few short years._

_Where does this uncanny business acumen come from? Could it be that a lifetime of combative behavior has taught her how to ruthlessly crush the competition? Or is there a more sinister reason behind her success? Ms. Durin seems to exert an influence over her brethren far beyond what would normally be expected between employer and employees, or even the head of a family over its other members. One doesn’t like to speculate, but in the opinion of this hobbit, the circumstances are suspicious enough to warrant further investigation._

_(It should be noted that despite her position and status, Ms. Durin does absolutely nothing to curb her own family’s disorderly ways. According to reliable witnesses, her two nephews have caused enough disturbances in the community to earn several visits from the sheriff.)_

_What’s more, how does a woman, even a dwarf woman, command the obedience of so many men in such a fashion? Surely there must be one amongst them that catches her eye, who could help soften her cold demeanor? One must be forced to conclude that she either feels no passion at all except for profit, or otherwise engages in more unsavory relations. While Hobbiton is no stranger to bizarre and unnatural behavior, most have the decency to keep their oddities behind closed doors, and not flout their immoral lifestyles in the aisles of the local grocery store._

“I was wondering when I’d get a mention,” Bilbo muttered sourly.

_Whether one believes that they are simply preserving their traditions (no matter what the evidence to the contrary might be), or are amassing an empire with the Shire as its headquarters, perhaps it’s worth giving our neighbors a little extra scrutiny. For the safety of our children, our way of life, and our selves._

Bilbo leaned back and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. Eru, what a mess! It was one thing to claim that Almina Chubb used a store-bought pie to win the annual baking contest, and quite another to imply that long-time residents of the Shire were…what, running the dwarven mafia? Never mind the irony of Lobelia accusing someone else of greed and and avarice! Absently she picked up her coffee cup and drained the cold dregs while crumpling the paper in her other hand and dropping it in the wastebin. She was already mulling over the numerous problems that she could foresee arising from this, not the least of which would be the difficulty of finding a dwarf willing to sell firewood to anyone with the name of “Baggins” this winter.

“No, no, that’s not the right attitude to have. Surely this can be fixed. What needs to be done first?” she demanded of the potted asparagus fern on her desk, whose only answer was to look slightly wilted.

Well, fine, perhaps “fixing” it was a little outside her scope, but she could at least try to mitigate the damage. The rest of the newspapers had to be disposed of, for a start. Hobbiton could survive one day without speculation about Doderic Brandybuck’s surprising wardrobe choices and the subsequent visits from concerned law enforcement. Some families got the paper delivered at home, and there was nothing she could do about that, but a majority of West Farthing got theirs at Bungo’s Grocery and Café. Perhaps she could offer a free copy of the next day’s paper to anyone who complained? She scribbled a note on the desk blotter so that she would remember to tell her employees when they arrived.

With that out of the way, her mind turned to the problem of the Durins and their companions. Being that she ran the only grocery store in town, Bilbo was slightly better acquainted with the Shire's dwarvish families than many of her neighbors. Everyone needed to eat! Fíli and Kíli showed up once or twice a week to charm her out of day-old pastries, and Bilbo had seen their mother — an imposing, handsome woman with dark hair and regal features — stop in once or twice. Balin and Dwalin could be counted on to show up on odd days for tomatoes and fresh-baked cookies, respectively. Bombur enjoyed trading recipes, while Bofur sat in the café and flirt outrageously until Bilbo shooed him out. The elusive Thorin, whom Lobelia had spared especial vitriol for in her article, had never set foot in the store, to her knowledge.

Still, she remembered Fíli and Kíli sweet-talking her into giving them fruit tarts to take home on more than one occasion, so _someone_ in their household must appreciate them. And she didn’t want to brag, but she had the best selection of produce anywhere in the Shire…

A plan was beginning to take shape.

It was the work of a few moments to collect what she needed from cold storage. A respectable assortment of apples and pears, a generous wedge of hard cheese…oh, perhaps they might like some smoked salmon? A clean wooden crate was unearthed from beneath a pile of empty boxes and lined with crumpled butcher paper. She shuffled out into the main store area, still dark except for the emergency florescent lights, and slipped into the bakery to see what she could pull together. Some cheese danishes, two of each fruit pastry, and four chocolate croissants were placed into a pink cardboard box decorated with flowers and inscribed with “Belladonna’s Bakery” in friendly, looping script. She wondered if a bottle of wine would be appropriate? No, no, that was too personal. Who knew if they even drank wine? You could never be too sure nowadays. Instead she snagged a bag of locally-roasted coffee beans and plopped it on top of the box of baked goods as she returned to the back of the store. Once she had everything arranged in the crate, it looked very fine indeed.

Hopefully the Durins would accept the gift in the spirit of apology that it was intended, and allow her to explain that not every hobbit was as nasty and prejudiced as the Sackville-Bagginses.

Back in her office, she was wrapping a scarf around her neck when she caught sight of the clock above the door and paused. There was no possible way for her to deliver this to the Durin Tree Farm and still open on time. It was a forty-minute round trip — even without potential confrontations — and she was supposed to open in thirty. She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. Maybe she could send one of her cousins to drop it off later? After all, Lobelia was Bilbo’s cousin by marriage, but they were hardly on speaking terms...possibly due to her “bizarre and unnatural behavior _,_ ” but more likely because Bilbo refused to move out of Bag End. Besides, if she made a gift basket for every person that the Sackville-Baggginses insulted, she would go bankrupt in a week! It was a bad precedent to set.

But had Lobelia's nastiness ever reached such a widespread audience before? Words like “greedy" and "exploitative” were still fresh in her mind, words that the rest of the Shire would also soon be reading, and that helped firm her wavering resolve. It was still dark outside when she nestled the crate in the back of her Volkswagen and pulled out of the parking lot.

She didn’t encounter a single soul on the way to the turnoff that led to the Durin property. Goodness, it was early enough that they might not even be awake yet! Doubt seized her once again, along with a powerful urge to turn the car back around. What would a family of dwarves think of a strange hobbit showing up on their property before sunrise, even one bearing gifts? Suddenly her gesture of goodwill seemed laughably naive. Why, oh why, did she believe that every problem in the world could be solved with food???

Her face flushed with preemptive embarrassment while her stomach tied itself into tighter knots. Without taking her eyes off the road, she fiddled with the knobs on the tape deck to forestall the wild panic threatening to take hold. As the soothing strains of something vaguely new-age filled the cabin, she took deep breaths and flexed her fingers against the steering wheel.

She was going to see this through. If there was one thing that her mother had taught her, it was that the anticipation of a thing was nearly always worse than the thing itself. Potential humiliation aside, this impulsive gamble was probably going to turn out just fine.

Bilbo repeated this assurance to herself all the way up the winding mountain road between breathy, distracted song lyrics. She kept it firmly in mind as she strode across the gravel driveway to the front of the frankly imposing old house, only stopping when she stood before a heavy wooden door studded with iron nails. Muffled yet familiar voices on the other side told her that the boys were awake, at least, so despite her nervousness she shifted the crate unsteadily into the crook of one arm and knocked three times. She smiled underneath her scarf at the loud scuffling that ensued, and allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this actually _would_ be alright.

 

* * *

 

Thorin didn’t throw the coffee carafe against the wall, but it was a near thing.

The newspaper had already been slammed closed on the table, but she could still clearly recall certain phrases; “greedy, exploitative dealings” and “unsavory relations” came to mind without conscious effort, and they made her blood boil just the same as when she first read them. What did this ignorant shrew know of Dwarven heritage or ways?

Her nephews were looking at her with twin looks of incredulity, and this further heightened her irritation.

“We’re cancelling our subscription to this ridiculous newspaper. Today,” she ground out, “It’s nothing but recipes and pumpkin contests and small-town gossip. We won’t be missing anything.”

“But Aunt Thorin, don’t we run an ad for the farm in this paper?” Fíli replied — quite reasonably, he thought.

“We will find other ways to advertise,” she bit back, turning away from their curious expressions to stare out the window into the pre-dawn darkness. Quiet rustling told her that they were looking for the source of her unexpected ire. Not that it would be difficult to find! It took up a sizable portion of the “Local News” section, which in a town as tiny as this one was only two pages in, impossible to miss.

“Ugh! Is this that Sackville-Baggins cow Bilbo always talks about?” Kíli asked his brother, who made an affirmative noise as he read the article silently to himself.

It took Thorin a moment to connect the name to short ginger curls and a pleasant, freckled face. She whirled on her startled charges. “Bilbo Baggins? The woman who owns the grocery store? She’s related to this…this harpy??”

“Yeah, I think they’re cousins. But…”

Thorin didn’t give Kíli a chance to finish his sentence. “Then we will be doing our shopping in Little Delving from now on.” The extra 60 kilometers would be murder on her old truck, but it would be worth it to not have to feign politeness to yet another pompous, self-satisfied, dim-witted halfling who smiled to her face, only to whisper when her back was turned.

The boys immediately protested, speaking over one another with steadily increasing volume, and Thorin’s temper rose at an equal cant.

“But Auntie…”

“The apples are never any good, Bilbo gets the best ones…”

“…the chocolate croissants!”

“…they never even…”

“…you should hear what she says about Bi…”

“…can’t stand…”

“ **ENOUGH**!”

Their complaints stopped instantly. In the ensuing silence, the slow knock on the front door was absolutely thunderous.

“I’ll get it!” Kíli shouted, his brother scrambling after him to escape their aunt’s silent wrath. Thorin was immobilized. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and customers typically waited until the sun came up to conduct business. She had a sneaking suspicion that this early-morning visitor had something to do with the article. Perhaps one of her workers wanted to bring it to her attention? _Well, it was a little late for that_. Still, she wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to abuse the author with Dwalin, or even Bofur.

“Bilbo! What are you doing here? Wow, is that a gift basket?”

Blood rushed to her face so quickly that she could feel the tips of her ears throb and burn. A Baggins? _Here?_ Her coffee cup was tossed into the metal sink with a clang. She was sick to death of these grasping, greedy creatures, who welcomed dwarven strength and dwarven crafts when it was to their benefit, but spurned them the moment they found some aspect of dwarven behavior not to their liking. Now one was trying to weasel her way into Thorin’s good graces after her kin had offered grievous insult. Truly, this was too great of an insult to be borne!

She stomped to the front door, where a tiny figure dressed in a puffy jacket, long skirt, and boots could just barely be seen in the weak light from their front porch. Fíli and Kíli had already relieved her of her burden – a crate sat on the floor and was being rifled through with obvious relish.

If Ms. Baggins was waiting for an invitation to come inside, she was going to be sorely disappointed. Her nephews paused at the sight of their furious aunt, clutching fruit and cheese to their chests – an instinctive reaction honed by years of getting caught red-handed with things they shouldn’t have.

“Aunt Thorin…” Fíli began, only to be cut off with a gesture that manged to encompass Bilbo, the boys, and the box of food between them.

“Clean up this mess. You need to get ready for work.” She moved fully into the door frame to acknowledge their unwelcome guest, enjoying the way the much smaller woman had to take a step back and crane her neck in order to look Thorin in the eye. “My nephews thank you for the food. Now please leave.” Ms. Baggins’s eyes, the only part of her that was visible beneath all the layers, widened in affront, and Thorin felt a vicious stab of satisfaction. Hobbits made such a show of valuing propriety, concealing their nastiness behind polite smiles; they could all do with a taste of dwarven frankness.

Bilbo seemed to recover her wits quickly enough, however. “You’re Thorin Durin, right? Fíli and Kíli’s aunt? I’m Bilbo Baggins…”

“The _grocer_. I’m aware,” she interrupted.

Bilbo stared at her, obviously wondering whether there was hidden insult in the word “grocer.” (There was.) Still, she continued on, “I’m sorry to be making your acquaintance under these circumstances, but I just read today’s paper, and…”

“As did I, Mistress Baggins. And while I’m sure your intentions in coming here were noble,” the long pause after this pronouncement made it perfectly clear that she thought no such thing, “Your relation made her views on my family and my people quite clear. There is nothing more to be said. Good day.”

And with that, she shut the door right in Bilbo’s face.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo could hardly believe what had just happened. What _had_ just happened? She wondered if she should pinch herself to see if it was a dream, but she probably wouldn’t feel it through all of these layers anyhow.

The surprise of finally meeting Thorin face-to-face, when she had assumed that the formidable woman of her memory was Fíli and Kíli’s mother, was buried under the indignation of her abrupt dismissal. She had never been treated so rudely in her entire life! Ms. Durin had barely even allowed her to introduce herself, or to explain her errand. She had half a mind to knock again and give that insufferable dwarf a stern talking-to about manners!

She stood on the porch for a moment longer, unsure of what to do. She was not used to giving in so easily, yet she could hear no further noise coming from inside the house, and the lightening sky meant that she was now running inexcusably late. An icy gust of wind made her eyes water. She shifted between her feet for another few seconds, then decided that just for today, discretion was the better part of valor, and darted back to her warm car.

As she carefully made her way back down the hill, Bilbo pondered what to do next. Her initial irritation was receding, and in retrospect she realized that she should have expected something like this. Dwarves were a notoriously proud race, and Lobelia had gone far beyond normal rudeness in her op-ed. But she couldn’t simply allow the Durins to continue believing that all Baggins were so vulgar. Perish the thought! Why, her mother would have shown up at their doorstep every single day until someone listened to her! Bilbo wasn’t prepared to go that far — running the town’s only grocery store was a full-time occupation — but she certainly had no intention of giving up. Everyone just needed some time to cool down, that was all.

In the meantime, she could work out her next move. If any dwarves visited the store over the next few days, she was not above bribing them with treats from the bakery to soften their hearts – Prim’s cinnamon buns had brought stronger men to their knees. And if Fíli and Kíli continued their habit of coming in to beg for leftovers, she could ply them for information about their stern aunt, and perhaps find a way to appeal to her better nature. She was sure her Took ingenuity would be put to good use.

Many of her regular customers were milling about in front of the closed doors when she pulled in. Several, she noted with dismay, were clutching copies of the hated newspaper in their hands already. Plastering on her best conciliatory smile as she stepped out of the car, she prepared herself for a long, _long_ day.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Canadian lesbian lumberjane AU that no one knew they needed (ﾉﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ
> 
> Ruto and I came up with this headcanon while dreaming about fem!Thorin in flannel (as one does). She drew some gorgeous art for it, and that was all it took for me to want to turn it into a complete fic. I'll link the art in the appropriate chapter so as not to give away plot points, but you can check out more of her work on [Tumblr](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/). This literally wouldn't exist without her, so please show her some love!
> 
> Khudzul help provided by the incomparable Yubi, who can be found on [Tumblr](http://yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com/) and [A03](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/pseuds/yubiwamonogatari).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin swallows her pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to [Ruto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/pseuds/rutobuka), whose birthday was last week. I'm sorry I didn't have this done on the day of, but I hope it was worth the wait! <3
> 
> A million thanks to [Mith](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/) for the beta!

As she rifled through her bare pantry, Thorin felt the headache that had been pounding at her temples all afternoon give a dull throb. The news murmured on the ancient TV set in the living room, with a perky female voice advising Shire residents to stay indoors and avoid the roads. The first winter storm was predicted to roll in tonight, bringing torrential rainfall, high winds, and an overnight freeze. Bridges to the East and West of Binbale Wood were being closed due to the threat of flash flooding, so Thorin knew that she would have to drive through Hobbiton to get anywhere in the Shire today.

Her search yielded two label-less jars of sauce and some biscuits of indeterminate age. All three were tossed into the garbage with more force than was probably necessary.

She tried to summon the ire that had sustained her since the unexpected appearance of a hobbit on her doorstep a fortnight ago, but the only thing she could muster was shame. It was her own pride and temper that had driven her into this self-imposed, foodless exile, not Bilbo Baggins. In fact, the excellent coffee that she had enjoyed this morning was the last of what Bilbo had gifted them two weeks ago. Now Thorin had to decide whether it was worth driving an extra twenty kilometers to avoid having to apologize for her rudeness. With the closure of the roads imminent, traveling too far afield didn’t seem wise.

Be that as it may, Ms. Baggins would be completely within her rights to refuse Thorin service. Public haranguing for her unfair treatment was not outside the realm of possibility, either. The dwarf twisted the bead at the end of one braid as she contemplated the relative merits of starvation versus humiliation.

Kíli wandered into the kitchen, interrupting her musings.

“Hey!” he offered airily, with forced casualness. It fell short of his usual boisterous cheer, and Thorin felt a pang of unease as she watched him rummage through the fridge.

All three of them had avoided the awkwardness of discussing what had happened by throwing themselves completely into pre-Yule preparations. Thorin had drawn up delivery schedules and checked over the previous year’s books to see which businesses she needed to visit this month, while Fíli and Kíli been out on the property chopping, sawing, and loading cords of wood onto pallets. But no amount of work could distract her from the distance that had grown between herself and her nephews.

It plucked at old heartaches; vigilance and obeisance were lessons she had learned at her mother’s knee to pacify mad old Thror's troubled mind. To be treated with the same caution by her own family was intolerable.

“Kíli.”

“Son of a _bitch_!” her nephew barked in response. The exclamation was accompanied by a hollow plastic thud.

Kíli unfolded himself from his crouch, rubbing his head where he had banged it on the top shelf of the fridge. “What’s up, Thorin?” he asked with an exaggeratedly pained expression. He was probably surprised at being addressed directly after two weeks of mostly monosyllabic grunts. Thorin couldn’t help the tiny smile that lifted the corner of her mouth.

“We need groceries. Find your brother and be ready to leave in 15 minutes.”

“Fooooooooood!” he crowed, agony evidently forgotten, and with three long strides he was out of the kitchen and shouting for Fíli .

Thorin sat down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pen. She took her time writing down everything she thought they might need, certain that the loud thumps and protests from upstairs meant that the boys were wrestling rather than getting ready, as per usual. She underlined “Coffee” three times, then hesitated before adding in tiny letters “ - ask Ms. Baggins for recommendation.” Another second of indecision, and she added a minuscule question mark.   

When she stood to collect her keys from the hook on the wall, she was surprised to see Fíli and Kíli already standing at the front door, fully dressed and shuffling with impatience. Fíli held her coat out to her as though he might pull her arms through the sleeves himself if she didn’t do it fast enough. She took a few extra seconds to pat down her pockets, making a show of locating her wallet and phone. Kíli groaned, and Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle at his dramatics.

“ _Please_ can we leave sometime before the next Age?”

“I don’t know why you’re still standing here talking.”

Fíli flung open the door with a whoop and both boys raced to Thorin’s truck, while she followed at a more sedate pace. The sky was slate-grey and the wind cutting; her cheeks were stinging with cold by the time she reached the old blue Chevy. The argument over who should ride shotgun had already concluded with Fíli crammed uncomfortably into the back of the cab and Kíli pushing the seat hard into his brother’s knees. Thorin could sense a fight brewing, and she was determined not to have another source of stress to deal with when she was already dreading a confrontation.

“Fíli. Kíli.” she cut in, “I’ll not have any of this behavior while we’re out. People are going to be nervous today on account of the storm. Don’t do anything to make it worse, or I’ll make you both wait in the truck.” They stopped their bickering immediately, suitably chastised. Satisfied that her point had been made, Thorin climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The heater switched on, and Thorin welcomed the blast of warm air against her cool face. She tossed the grocery list and a pen into Kíli’s lap.

“Here, write down anything I missed.”

Fíli leaned forward to prop his chin on his brother’s seat, and together they pored over the list as Thorin carefully drove the winding road that led to Hobbiton. Their mutterings of “Molson” and “ketchup chips,” had her silently wondering where she or their parents had gone wrong, when they both stopped speaking at once. There was no question about what had given them pause; her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Aunt Thorin, does this say ‘Ms. Baggins?’ Are we going to Bungo’s? Have you two made up?”

Thorin felt her stomach twist with guilt at Kili’s hopeful tone. “We haven’t spoken yet, no. But I was hoping to remedy that today. Also, there isn’t any grocery store that’s closer, so we don’t have much choice.” They were all quiet for a moment, and then Fíli spoke.

“I’m glad we’re going there, no matter what the reason. I’ve missed seeing Bilbo.” Kíli nodded fervently, and Thorin felt the uncomfortable ache in her belly rise to her chest and settle near her heart.

“Boys…”

She trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Reassurance had always been more Dís’s forte than Thorin’s. Sometimes archeological digs would keep her sister out of contact for months at a time, and her infrequent phone calls would cut out mid-conversation due to poor connections, yet she always seemed to say exactly the right thing right when it was most needed. Thorin had tried to imitate Dís’s easy conversational style many times, but even the most heartfelt words sounded flat and wooden when she said them, like she was reading from a script.

For all that Thorin had essentially raised her nephews after the death of their father, she laid awake more nights than not, turning their interactions over and over in her head, sick with certainty that she was too sharp with them, too aloof, and overall a poor substitution for either of their parents. Still, she knew she had to _try_ …especially right now, when they were both regarding her with such wary intensity.

She sighed heavily.

“Unless the situation is actually dangerous, you don’t have to avoid anyone or anything just because you think it will upset me.” Recalling Kili’s very short-lived infatuation with a red-headed elf five summers ago, and the poncy blond bloke two summers after that, she knew she was setting herself up for decades of future headaches, but pressed on regardless.

“You’re adults, so you’re free to see whomever you wish. And…” Her throat tightened, and she had to swallow around the invisible stone lodged there. “I’m sorry if my words or actions made you feel differently.” She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, unwilling to speak another word lest it come out strangled and small.

The truck’s suspension shifted as Fíli wriggled his way to the middle of the cab. A second later his long arm circled around Thorin’s shoulder and pressed gently against her collarbone, careful not to get in the way of her driving. Kíli leaned over and looped his arm loosely around her thick waist, letting the side of his head rest against her own. They all collectively ignored Thorin’s shaky exhale as she allowed the closeness and warmth of her boys ease the hard knot of anxiety in her breast. The rest of the trip was silent, but it was a warm and comfortable silence, without the tension that had simmered beneath the surface over the last few days.

They pulled into the parking lot of Bungo’s Grocery a few minutes later, turning into a space near the front next to an ancient yellow Rabbit emblazoned with rainbow stickers that Thorin vaguely recognized. As expected, Kíli was eager to escape the stifling confines of the truck as soon as they parked, and tumbled out onto the asphalt before the engine had even cut off. Thorin expected Fíli to follow, but he stayed seated in the cramped back seat, absently staring through the windshield while fiddling with his mustache.

Thorin was familiar with Fíli’s thoughtful silences; like her, he usually needed time to consider his words before speaking. So she waited patiently while they both watched Kíli test all the shopping carts in front of the store for one that met his exacting steering standards.

Finally, Fíli worked out what he wanted to say, and used the driver’s seat to pull himself closer, until his face was level with Thorin’s. “You know we weren’t mad at you, right Aunt Thorin? We understood why you were upset about the paper, after what happened with granddad. We just didn’t want to bring up bad memories by talking about it.” Thorin nodded slowly, even though she had known no such thing. Not for the first time, she was deeply grateful for eldest nephew’s gift of observation.

“And we know how hard you work to make sure we have everything we need. I mean, Mom loves us, we know that, but you’re the one who’s actually there for us every day. And I just wanted you to know that we appreciate that. More than you realize.”

Thorin’s throat closed up, yet her chest felt full to bursting from all the words she couldn’t speak. It was a hot, sharp, heavy sensation, like a shot of good whiskey that burned even as it soothed. She reached up and squeezed Fíli’s hand tightly for a second, unable to do anything else while she let his quiet reassurance ease one knot of worry in her ever-present tangle of self-doubt.

Luckily, he seemed to sense that his aunt had reached her limit for emotional revelations today. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before pushing Kíli’s seat forward all the way and scrambling out the open door after his brother. Thorin was left to compose herself in the still-warm cab of the truck.

She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, more out of instinct than necessity. _Mahal_ , the emotional whiplash of parenthood never failed to knock her on her ass.

Picking up the grocery list from the passenger seat, she smoothed the wrinkled paper and read over it again line by line until the suspiciously heavy feeling in her chest began to subside. She knew she was stalling, but she also felt a bit raw, and wasn’t eager for another emotional battering so soon after the first. Still, her nephew’s words had bolstered her. So, with a final glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure nothing was out of place, she hopped out of the truck and strode into the warm, coffee-scented air of Bungo’s Grocery.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo pushed several errant curls back from her face, wishing she’d had time to pin them up properly this morning. She hadn’t taken a break since opening, but now that daylight was slipping away and clouds were gathering ominously in the West, business had finally slowed enough that she could send her employees on break and take a moment to slump against the register and breathe.

It was doubtful that many of her customers today had actually needed to stock up on anything, since most of them kept full larders year-round. But the first sign of bad weather invariably caused them all to turn up in droves anyway and buy enough canned goods to last into the Fifth Age. In reality, they mostly wanted to huddle in groups and speculate about how much damage the wind and rain would cause (with unseemly zeal, Bilbo thought), and recall the widespread destruction of Winters past.

She was fairly certain that Lobelia was skulking through the aisles at the moment, but otherwise everything was calm, so her thoughts drifted toward the basket that was currently sitting on the desk in her office. She chewed her bottom lip while contemplating whether it was too soon to reach out to the Durins again. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a dwarf since her disastrous visit two weeks prior, and had no idea how their pantries were faring. She wondered if Thorin had asked them all to stay away, or if they had done so on their own. Still, a neighborly gesture of goodwill couldn’t go amiss, could it?

“Bilbo!”

She turned to the front door, startled, and was surprised to see Fíli and Kíli strolling in, pushing a shopping cart ahead of them.

“Boys! How wonderful to see you!” she called as she stepped out from behind the counter. Kíli jogged ahead of his brother and swooped in for a crushing hug. She squealed as he straightened and lifted her off the ground, kicking his shin in protest, but she was so relieved to see them both that she secretly didn’t mind the manhandling. He looked unrepentant as he set her back down and Fíli leaned in for a more restrained embrace, which she gratefully returned. Pulling back, she looked up at their twin grins and felt her own tired lips lift to match.

“I was just thinking about you, and here you are! I’ve been worried!”

“I know! Weeks without this handsome face to brighten your day! I’m not sure how you survived!” Kíli exclaimed melodramatically.

“I managed, but only barely,” she laughed in reply.

“It’s been busy at the farm,” Fíli cut in before Kíli could start flirting in earnest. “Deliveries are about to go out, so we’ve been working every day. Everyone else is visiting family before the big rush, so it’s just us and Thorin for a couple more weeks. And speaking of…” He turned, and Bilbo peeked between the two of them as the automatic door whooshed open and the dwarf in question stepped inside.

 Bilbo was slightly surprised to find that Thorin Durin was not, in fact, nearly as large or imposing as she remembered. Without the extra height afforded by the porch, she wasn’t much taller than Bilbo herself, and absent dramatic silhouetting in early morning hours, she looked quite…normal. Dressed in jeans, work boots, and a blue parka, she was no more intimidating than any other customer. The nervousness Bilbo had felt when she first saw her walking in eased a bit, and she gave a little wave as the dwarf approached their group.

“I hope these two aren’t bothering you too much,” Thorin rumbled as she planted herself between her nephews, and Bilbo heard the undercurrent of parental warning in her tone. Fíli and Kíli’s smiles didn’t falter, and Kíli slung his arm around Thorin’s shoulder in a little half-hug that spoke of easy affection.

Seeing them all standing together, Bilbo could now clearly recognize the family resemblance. Their complexions were similar, and Kíli shared Thorin’s dark hair, while Fíli took after her more in the eyes and nose. But both boys were softer, more rounded, and obviously much taller than their aunt, whose sharp features and short, stocky build more closely resembled the dwarves of legend. They were an incredibly attractive family, truth be told, and she smoothed her hands over her apron self-consciously, wishing that she had bothered to wear something besides a plain gingham dress underneath today.

“Ah…no, not at all! They’ve been perfect gentlemen,” Bilbo assured her. She immediately wondered if Thorin really was a bit frightening after all, because when that pale blue stare was turned on her directly, she felt a little quake in her belly that she couldn’t precisely identify, except that it made her face feel quite warm, and perhaps like she wanted to hide behind her cash register.

Her salvation came, ironically, in the form of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who had walked up to the front only to stop short at the sight of Bilbo flanked by a trio of dwarves. And not just any dwarves, but ones that she had publicly denounced by name two weeks prior. She abandoned her full shopping cart and dove behind a display of pies, clearly trying to sneak her way around the registers without being noticed...a feat made quite impossible by her acid-green coat and matching knitted hat. Bilbo turned her attention away from Thorin’s disconcerting gaze and pinned Lobelia in place with a sharp-edged smile.

“Nothing for you today, Lobelia?” she asked sweetly, and at the name all three Durins immediately swiveled their heads to gawk at the mousy, dark-haired hobbit whose face had bypassed red and was rapidly approaching blotchy purple. Lobelia opened her mouth to offer a retort, looked between the much-taller figures surrounding Bilbo, seemed to think better of it, and marched toward the front door with her head held high. Bilbo called after her, “Have a nice night! Say hello to Otho for me!” The hostile glares of her companions punctuated her sardonic farewell, and she couldn’t help but laugh when her long-time adversary was completely out of sight.

“Oh, that was fantastic! I couldn’t have planned that better if I had tried!”

“What do you mean?” Thorin queried, her heavy brows drawing together.

“She’s my cousin by marriage, and seems to think that gives her some claim on this business and my family home. She never misses an opportunity to harangue me about how selfish I am for keeping both to myself.” Bilbo giggled again, pleased by her victory. “I’ve also caught her making off with my silver spoons every time she comes over for tea. We don’t really get on.”

“And she’s the one who wrote the article in the paper?” Thorin asked, her face still pinched with annoyance.

“She was! It was a departure from her usual commentary about the immoral lifestyles of certain local business owners.” Bilbo hooked one thumb under her apron strap and used the other to point at herself, making it clear exactly which ‘local business owners’ she meant. “And I _am_ sorry for that. I’m quite used to it, but it’s still dreadful. Hence the, uh…” She flapped her hand in the air vaguely, unsure of what to call it, “…from a couple of weeks ago. I was hoping to be able to explain, but I may have shown up at a bad time.”

Her stomach churned. She hadn’t intended to bring up the incident, especially when Thorin seemed to be in such a better mood than their last meeting. But her mouth had run away with her, and under the weight of three renewed stares she wasn’t sure where to look, so she focused on a portion of grey hair above Thorin’s left ear rather than meeting her eyes directly.

Suddenly that patch of silver was much closer, and Bilbo couldn’t avoid looking at Thorin’s face because it was right in front of her, and it took everything in her power not to take a step backward.

“Ms. Baggins,” Thorin began, “I wish to offer my sincere apology for my behavior. I never gave you a chance to explain your presence, and was inexcusably ungracious, especially in light of your generosity. If there’s anything that I or my family can do for you, we are at your service.”

Thorin finished her short speech by crossing her right arm over her chest and bowing at the waist, a gesture that Fíli and Kíli echoed behind her.

Bilbo was taken aback by the unexpected apology — which sounded suspiciously like an oath, at least to her ears. She felt her face flush once again, though she couldn’t say why, exactly. Something about Thorin’s sincere, solemn pledge hearkened to a time long past, when alliances and quests were embarked upon with the same such formalities, and the thought was oddly thrilling.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! Water under the bridge, as far as I’m concerned. But thank you! I appreciate it.” She shook her head, clearing it of all fanciful notions of adventures and whatnot. She had no idea what silliness had come over her, but the sight of the empty cart next to them reminded her that she was currently delaying customers from buying her wares. She offered them a polite smile as she stepped back into the comfortable familiarity of her role as proprietor. “I’m sorry for keeping you! Please take all the time you need to shop. I have to run to the back to grab something, but I’ll be around if you have any questions.” She offered another small wave, feeling quite absurd as she did so, and scurried to the safety of her office before she could say anything else terribly embarrassing.

She was therefore thankfully well out of earshot when Kíli nudged Fíli in the ribs and said, sotto voce, “I think somebody has a crush on Aunt Thorin.”

Luckily, Thorin wasn’t close enough to hear his pronouncement or Fíli’s murmured agreement either, as she was determined to finish their shopping before the rain started. She had already stalked off into the depths of the store like a soldier going into battle. Thirty minutes later, they approached the front registers and saw Bilbo bagging the purchases of an elderly hobbit couple who looked to have bought one of everything in the store, nodding at their words and offering vague agreements. She sent them on their way with an admonishment to drive home safely, and greeted the dwarves with a smile that seemed a touch less strained.

“Did you find everything you needed?” she inquired as she started scanning their items. “We’re a little picked over, but if there’s anything you didn’t see I might have it in back.”

“I _did_ have a question, actually.” Thorin gestured to Fíli and Kíli to keep loading their groceries onto the conveyor belt while she addressed Bilbo. “That coffee you gave us…is it sold here, or somewhere else in town? I didn’t see it on the shelves, and I was hoping to pick up some more, or perhaps another one that you recommend.”

Bilbo’s smile widened. “Oh, I’m glad you liked it! I wasn’t sure what sort of roast you might prefer, so I grabbed one of my favorites. We keep them in the café, since they’re a bit of a specialty item. I’m out of that particular one at the moment, but…” She reached down and picked up a basket that was filled with foodstuffs and green tissue paper. “I did add a couple more to this, and they’re equally good. One’s a dark roast, and the other is a Haradrim blend. I hope you like them.” She placed the basket gently in their cart and continued to scan the remaining items. Thorin went completely still, though Fíli and Kíli could see the tension in her hands as she clutched her wallet convulsively.

Their aunt loathed charity. She had worked three jobs in the wake of her family’s fall from grace, and had still barely managed to scrape by for nearly two decades while she put Dís and the boys through school. She was incredibly proud of the life she had built for her family here in The Shire, and anyone that reminded her of those days of welfare checks and pitying looks usually ended up on the receiving end of her ire. The tension was palpable, but they both held back for a moment, curious to see how Bilbo would handle it.

“I can pay for that,” Thorin said quietly, reaching for the basket.

“But you won’t, because it’s a gift,” Bilbo replied firmly, pushing the entire cart slightly out of Thorin’s reach. “Consider it a gesture of my gratitude for keeping Lobelia from causing a scene today.” She rang up the final item, and continued cheerfully, “That will be two-hundred ninety-six dollars and twelve cents.”

Thorin’s face contorted through a range of sour expressions before smoothing into amused resignation. She counted three crisp bills out of her wallet and handed them to Bilbo. “And will you accept nothing in return? Your good will is appreciated, yet I feel that you have given much while I have offered nothing in kind. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling indebted.”

“I don’t know about this ‘debt’ business, but perhaps there _is_ something you can help me with.” She handed Thorin her change and receipt and placed the last bag in the cart. “I don’t know if it’s too late in the season, but I was wondering if it would be possible to work out an arrangement for selling firewood here at the store? My supplier last year charged far too much for delivery, and I haven’t found a suitable replacement yet. I also have enough space in the parking lot to dedicate a portion to pre-cut Yule trees, if you’re amenable. Perhaps we could meet sometime this week to discuss it?”

Thorin was surprised by the request, though try as she might, she couldn’t see how the proposition would benefit Bilbo all that much, though she couldn’t deny that a partnership with Bungo’s would be enormously profitable for the farm. “It’s not too late, and I’d be happy to draw up a contract. When would best suit you?”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Bilbo dug out a business card from her apron and scribbled something on the back of it. “I work most days from open until close, and my days off are inconsistent, but I should be able to escape early on Wednesday, if that works for you. My office here is barely big enough for one person, though. Would you like me to come up to the farm, or you can come up to my house?”

“Oh, you don’t want to come up to the farm right now!” Kíli interjected. “There’s paperwork on every surface, hardly a space to sit down! And sawdust everywhere! Aunt Thorin, you should definitely go to Bilbo’s house! Lots of nice trees up there on the hill for you to frown at!” He grinned winningly at his aunt, who was regarding him with irritation and no little suspicion. However, she was also thinking about the effort it would take to move all the paperwork that was indeed scattered everywhere, and clean her office satisfactorily to accept a potential client.

“I’d be honored if you came to Bag End,” Bilbo chirruped, completely unaware of the silent conversation taking place between the Durins though glares and waggled eyebrows. “I wrote the address down, and also my personal phone number.” She handed the card to Thorin, who took it carefully. “Wednesday, five o’clock? I’d be more than happy to make dinner.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to infringe on your hospitality,” Thorin demured as she tucked the card into the pocket of her jacket.

“It would be no trouble at all! I rarely get to cook for more than one. You can bring the boys, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Bilbo! We’d love to,” Fíli responded, and Thorin had the distinct impression that this conversation had been hijacked by her nephews for unknown reasons, but with three hopeful faces and a growing line of curious hobbits queuing up behind them, she found herself unable to do anything except nod.

“Until Wednesday, then,” she agreed.

And if the thought of a home-cooked meal and a bright smile caused a frisson of warmth to swirl in her belly the entire trip home, well…that was her business, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY that this has taken so long. My job eats up so much of my day that I usually have no energy left for writing (or anything else). I won't make promises, but I'll at least _try_ not to leave 8 months between updates T~T
> 
> Thank you again to [Mith](http://mithrilbikini.tumblr.com/) for the absolutely phenomenal beta job, and also her creative input! It was her idea to make Dís an archeologist, and I can't even tell you how much I loved it. Please go scream at her about how amazing her art is!
> 
> You can come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://mcmanatea.tumblr.com/) for my inexcusable tardiness, and while you're there, go tell [Ruto](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/) some nice things, too <3


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